


024 "forget"

by wheel_pen



Series: Iron Man AU [24]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fish out of Water, My Pepper is different, Pre-Iron Man, Tony is irresponsible with his health, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Christmas, another disaster for Tony. This time he wakes up in the hospital with short-term memory loss after overdosing on painkillers and alcohol—and the only one around to listen to his repetitive conversation is Obadiah. Fortunately he later gets to spend a late Christmas at the Rhodes house, with Pepper in tow for the first time. "Cool! I'm just like that guy in Memento!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	024 "forget"

**Author's Note:**

> 1) My Pepper is very different from canon Pepper. Her personality/origin is very different; to separate her from canon Pepper I've given her a new last name and a different hair color.
> 
> 2) The bad words are censored. That's just how I do things.
> 
> 3) Stories are numbered in the order I wrote them, which isn't necessarily the order in which they occur. At some point I'll post a timeline.
> 
> I wrote this series after the first Iron Man movie came out. It's very AU but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play with these characters.

            So this next bit I don't remember most of. You'll see why in a minute. I've filled it in based on what other people told me, and also there's a lot I just made up but it seemed reasonable.

            The first thing I was aware of was that I felt like s—t. Given my lifestyle this was not really unusual. However, I didn't appear to be feeling like s—t in my own luxurious bed at home, but rather in a bed with scratchy sheets, a lumpy mattress, and a strong smell of disinfectant. Which meant I was about to open my eyes in either a cheap motel room, or—

            A hospital.

            S—t. This was serious.

            Especially since I didn't remember being sick or—

            Oh wait. My shoulder. That's it. I'd been skiing for the first time in years, refused to start out on the bunny hill even once, and had promptly torn a ligament in my shoulder, or something like that. _Ouch_.

            Nonetheless, this didn't really explain why I was in the hospital, because the shoulder thing had been treated and I'd been released. In fact, I even remembered being at home, taking those—

            Right. The painkillers the doctor gave me. _That_ probably explained things.

            Now you may have wondered, throughout the course of reading about my behavior, how it is that I've managed to avoid becoming a junkie. I mean, reckless, adrenaline lover, irresponsible, no strong sense of shame or morality, try anything once—that pretty much summed me up. A casual observer might think I was a prime candidate to get hooked on cocaine or heroin or something.

            Well, it would be nice if I could say that despite my predilections I drew the line at illegal drugs, or even legal drugs that were abused, or just plain smoking. Like I had some firm stand I took against those. But the truth was, it was just a quirk of physiology. Taking drugs made me violently ill. This included _all_ drugs by the way—I even had to be careful with Tylenol, which really s—ked when you got hangovers as often as I did. So, yeah, actually, I _had_ tried a few illicit substances in my time, but when you're puking in the corner while everyone else was off experiencing the heights of ecstasy, you tended to lose your taste for such things.

            The doctor gave me some kind of super-duper painkiller for my shoulder, as I said, but given my past experiences I wasn't planning to use it. The thing was, though, my shoulder hurt like h—l. And Pepper was away on vacation—she had a way of making me feel better, somehow.

            So I thought, well, I'll just take one. Take the edge off the pain.

            And look what it got me.

            "Tony? Are you awake?" I opened my eyes more and saw Obadiah sitting by the bed, watching me intently. For a moment I wondered if he meant to smother me with a pillow while I was helpless. But instead he gave me a drink of water. "How do you feel?"

            "Like s—t," I croaked succinctly. Then I winced. "Why does my throat hurt?"

            "They had to pump your stomach, you little d—k," he informed me. "Tell me, Tony: Do you _actually_ have a death wish, or are you just an idiot?"

            This was a tough question—not like either choice was all that great. "No," I finally replied. He did not seem impressed with my answer. "Well, I don't know why you're mad at me," I said petulantly. "You know what drugs do to me."

            "So do you," he snapped. "Which is why you shouldn't have taken so many of them!"

            I frowned at him. " _What?_ It was, like, _one_ pill!"

            "Tony, even _your_ delicate system is not going to go into cardiac arrest from _one_ pill," Obadiah pointed out coldly.

            I rubbed my chest. Yeah, it _did_ hurt, now that he mentioned it. "I went into cardiac arrest?"

            "Proof that Tony Stark _has_ a heart," he answered acidly. "It had to be resuscitated."

            You'll have to forgive Obadiah's rather dark sense of humor. Or at least, _I_ always did. I was pretty much used to it.

            "Wow," I commented. "That _is_ serious."

            "Your gift for understatement is almost as strong as your gift for f-----g up," he replied, "and I suspect the two may be related. So why don't you tell me how many pills you really took, and what you washed them down with."

            He had a point about _one_ pill being unlikely to cause so much damage. Still, my mind was firm. "I only took one," I insisted, trying to sound sincere. "I think I had, um… juice."

            Obadiah didn't seem to believe me. What a surprise. "Come on, Tony. The doctor will be here soon with the tox report anyway. Don't bother with the little games."

            "I swear, Obie," I told him. "It was just one."

            He looked me in the eye for a moment, assessing, then sighed. "Okay, fine." I thought maybe he believed me, at least a little bit. "You're d—n lucky your assistant knows CPR and can keep her head in a crisis, that's all I have to say."

            This really didn't surprise me that much—Pepper was nothing if not calm. "Speaking of which, where _is_ Pepper?" I asked, looking around for telltale signs like food wrappers.

            "Pepper's on _vacation_ , Tony," Obadiah reminded me, as though I were an utter moron (so, his normal tone, then). "I meant your temp for the week, Amanda."

            "Oh, right," I agreed. I had forgotten about Amanda. I'd even forgotten what she looked like. "So," I went on casually, at the risk of being called an idiot again, "what day is it? I've kind of lost track."

            Obadiah smirked. "Christmas Eve. Your temp found you yesterday evening."

            I perked up a bit at this news. "Christmas Eve? Great, I'm going to Rhodey's tonight. What time is it?"

            Obadiah pushed my shoulder back down against the pillows. "You aren't going anywhere, Tony," he corrected. "Not before tomorrow at the earliest. Cardiac arrest, remember?"

            Well, this s—ked. "So I'm just supposed to sit here, alone, in the hospital, on Christmas Eve?" I whined. I wondered if I could get Rhodey to bring the kids _here_ , but then I thought maybe that would freak them out too much.

            Obadiah smiled, which reminded me of a shark. "Oh, you won't be alone, Tony," he countered. "I'll stay here with you."

            "Well, Merry f-----g Christmas," I grumbled. "Don't you have some stockings to stuff at the escort service?" Such were Obadiah's holiday traditions.

            "Tony," he tsked, "Christmas is about _family_. And _we're_ the only family we've got."

            Well, I didn't think he needed to remind me of _that_ , not when I was already feeling bad. "What's this for?" I demanded, indicating the IV going into my hand. "It _hurts_."

            Obadiah had moved to the table at the foot of the bed where his laptop was set up. "I don't know. Whatever they're giving you to help flush the drugs from your system."

            "My shoulder really hurts," I went on. I bet you never would have guessed that I'm a lousy patient.

            "That's what happens when you try to show off while skiing," Obadiah replied, without much sympathy.

            I frowned at him in confusion. "Skiing? What the h—l? I can't ski." Seriously. Athletic prowess aside, there was something about me and fresh powder that was incompatible. "Mom wouldn't let me after I broke my leg on that one trip."

            "Very funny," he replied, in a way that made me think he didn't find it funny at all. "Just remember that the next time you decide to try."

            Well, Obadiah wasn't making any sense, so I looked around for someone who—well, not made _sense_ , but at least made me feel better. "Where's Pepper?"

            He made a small noise of exasperation. "I told you, she's on vacation. And she's not going to magically reappear if you keep asking for her. Though G-d knows I wish she would," he muttered.

            Hey, if Pepper was on vacation, that meant it was—"What day is it?"

            "Tony, I know you don't want to be here, but irritating the c—p out of me is not going to make your stay more pleasant," Obadiah told me.

            "Well, I beg to differ on _that_ point," I tossed off, "but, J---s, all I asked for was the _date_. Am I forbidden from having a calendar now or what?"

            "Christmas. Eve." The words were forced out through gritted teeth.

            "Oh, hey, I'm supposed to go to Rhodey's tonight," I remembered happily. For some reason this made Obadiah rub his forehead in annoyance. "Well, don't get p----d at _me_ just because all _you_ have to do tonight is run through the Naughty and Nice lists at the escort service." I glanced around with some uncertainty. "Although, given that I'm in a hospital bed and I feel like s—t, I'm guessing I'm not supposed to leave for a party anytime soon."

            "Good guess, genius."

            I waited a minute, but Obadiah didn't have anything else to say. " _Well?_ " I prompted. "Are you going to tell me _why_ I'm in the hospital?"

            "Tony, shut up."

            Now I was starting to get angry. I mean, I was in a hospital bed! In my position, wouldn't _you_ like to know what was going on? "No! Tell me what f-----g happened to me!" I demanded. He just looked vaguely disgusted and tried to ignore me, the b-----d. "Was I in a car accident?" I guessed, since apparently that was the game we were playing. Sometimes I could forgive Obadiah's rather dark sense of humor. But not right now. "Where's Pepper?" I asked, a sudden panic gripping me. "Is she okay?" Oh my G-d, if anything had happened to Pepper—

            Obadiah finally turned to look at me, probably to tell me off, but his expression changed when he saw how serious I was. "Pepper's on vacation, Tony," he told me, in an oddly quiet tone (for him). "Don't you remember?"

            "Oh yeah," I agreed. "She's on vacation. Well, _was_ I in a car wreck?" I persisted. "My shoulder hurts like h—l."

            He was watching me very warily now. "Skiing accident."

            I snorted. "Obie, please, I don't ski. I haven't ever since I broke my leg skiing when I was fourteen. Mom wouldn't let me get back on a slope for anything."

            "Tony, are you feeling okay?" Obadiah asked, showing unusual concern.

            "No, I feel like s—t, I told you," I reminded him. "Why does my chest hurt? Did I hit the steering wheel or what?"

            "You went into cardiac arrest," he stated slowly, moving back to sit by me.

            "Oh my G-d," I commented. "That's _serious_. Maybe I should cut back on the cheeseburgers…"

            Obadiah gave me a hard look. "Tony, if you are f-----g with me, I'm going to beat your head to jelly, I swear it."

            "J---s, Ob, calm down," I replied, slightly startled. "What's wrong with you? Is it so weird that I'd like to know _why_ , exactly, I'm in the hospital?"

            "You don't remember."

            "I think that should be obvious."

            "It was a skiing accident," Obadiah said suddenly.

            "What was?" I asked him with a frown. "Hey, where's Pepper? Is she bringing me a cheeseburger, by any chance?"

            "Pepper's on vacation, Tony."

            "You know, you look really nervous, Obie," I commented. "And that makes _me_ nervous." A sudden panic gripped me. "Oh my G-d, was _Pepper_ in a skiing accident on vacation?"

            "No, _you_ were."

            "Wow, don't remember that," I confessed. "Did I hit my head or something? I didn't break my leg again, did I? Maybe Mom was right, I should've stayed away from skiing."

            Obadiah looked very serious. "Tony, do you remember how many pills you took?"

            I snorted. "I don't take pills, Ob. You know they make me sick. Besides, when would I have had time? You just said I was in a skiing accident."

            "The skiing accident was two days ago."

            This was getting weirder by the minute. "J---s. I _must've_ hit my head, then. What day is it?"

            "Christmas Eve."

            "Hmm. Do you think they'd let Rhodey and Rae and the kids visit me in here?" I asked hopefully. "I usually go to their house Christmas Eve, you know."

            "You also went into cardiac arrest," Obadiah said randomly.

            "From a _skiing accident_?" I scoffed, then I paused.

            "Tony?" Obadiah prompted.

            "Hmm, I was just scoffing at something, but I forgot what," I admitted. "Since you're here, it was probably _you_." I looked around. "Where _is_ here, anyway? And why do I feel like s‑‑t?"

            "I'm going to get the doctor," Obadiah declared, heading for the door.

            "Well it's about time," I called after him. " _Someone_ ought to know what the h—l is going on around here."

            I sat and waited in the bed in the empty room. I fidgeted. There were tubes attached to uncomfortable places, though I at least knew not to remove them. Waiting was d—n boring.

            Hmm, what was I waiting for again? I looked around the room for clues, but it was empty. Obviously I was in a hospital, which was probably good as I felt like s—t. It wasn't really very comforting to find oneself in a hospital with no idea how one got there.

            I was prevented from getting up by some tubes in uncomfortable places, but I squirmed around until I found the call button and pressed it. A moment later a pert young woman in brightly-colored scrubs entered the room.

            Immediately she set about checking the monitors surrounding me and various other nursely duties. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Stark?" she asked politely.

            Normally I would've had a charmingly roguish riposte to that opening, but the tubes in uncomfortable places kind of put a damper on that. "Hi. What's your name again?"

            "Amy?"

            "Amy. Nice to meet you. Where am I?"

            "You're at Bayside Medical Center," she replied cheerfully, making some notes on my chart.

            "And… why am I here?" I continued.

            "You went into cardiac arrest following an overdose of prescription painkillers," she told me, in the most pleasant tone possible.

            Wow, _so_ not what I was expecting. "Oh my G-d. Am I okay now?"

            "Well, your vitals look good," Amy declared. "We should get the doctor in for your diagnosis, though."

            "Yes, let's do that, please," I agreed quickly. "Have you seen my assistant, Pepper, by any chance? She's blond, tall, probably looking for food?"

            "Sorry," Amy told me. She hung my chart up at the foot of the bed again. "I'll just go see if the doctor's available."

            "Okay. Tropical fish are definitely you," I added, referring to the gaudy pattern she wore. A little compliment never hurt anything, even if I wasn't yet in the position to follow up on it.

            Amy left and I sat on the bed, waiting, in the empty room. Waiting was _boring_. _D—n_ boring.

            Hmm, what was I waiting for again? And why was I in a hospital, feeling like s—t?

            The door to my room opened, admitting Obadiah and a doctor-type person. There hadn't been many times in my life when I was _glad_ to see Obadiah, but this was definitely one of them. "What's going on, Obie? What happened? Where's Pepper?"

            "Pepper's on vacation, Tony," Obadiah answered.

            "Oh." That was very disappointing. Pepper always managed to make me feel better. "What happened?"

            "I have your tox report here, Mr. Stark," the doctor answered, leafing through a folder. He was a little Indian guy with the kind of lilting accent that made everything he said sound better than it really was. "Apparently, you ingested _eight_ of the painkillers prescribed for your shoulder, and your blood alcohol content was extremely high as well."

            "Painkillers? What--?"

            "You little s—t," growled Obadiah suddenly. "You _swore_ to me you only had _one_ pill and _no_ booze!"

            "Stop yelling at me!" I demanded. "I don't remember taking _anything_. Or talking to you about it. How could I? I just woke up."

            "Tony, you've been awake and talking to me for half an hour," Obadiah countered.

            I snorted. "Yeah, right." I rubbed my shoulder, which was particularly painful. "Why was I taking painkillers?"

            "You tore a ligament in your shoulder, in a skiing accident," the doctor informed me. He pulled out a little doctor tool and started doing doctorly things like flashing a light in my eyes. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked, before I could protest that I don't ski.

            "When?" I asked in confusion. "You mean, like, before now?"

            "Yes, the last thing before you woke up here," agreed the doctor patiently.

            "What about it?" I asked, blinking at the little Indian doctor who had appeared suddenly at my bedside. Obadiah was pacing impatiently behind him. "Why am I in a hospital? Why do I feel like s—t?" No one seemed to want to answer my questions, which was very upsetting. "Where's Pepper? Is she getting me a cheeseburger, by any chance?"

            "Oh, you won't be eating cheeseburgers any time soon, Mr. Stark," the doctor told me. "Not after going into cardiac arrest."

            "From _cheeseburgers_?" I was shocked. "G-d, maybe Pepper was right. I _should_ eat more salad. Hey, you never said where Pepper was."

            "You see what I mean?" Obadiah said to the doctor.

            Well, _I_ didn't see. "G-------t, tell me where Pepper is!"

            "Pepper's _on vacation_ ," Obadiah ground out.

            "Well, I'm so sorry you're stuck with me and my clogged arteries," I replied petulantly. I _loved_ cheeseburgers. Not to mention pizza, fried chicken, and a host of other foods that were undeniably not good for me. I never thought they would outright try to _kill_ me, though--I mean, I was pretty active, I worked out a lot…

            "The cardiac arrest was caused by the narcotics overdose," the doctor corrected, but that was hardly good news.

            "I've been taking _narcotics_?! Oh my G-d! Pepper wouldn't let me take drugs," I avowed, shaking my head. "Wait, does Pepper understand what drugs _are_?"

            "Mr. Stark, what's the last thing you remember?" the doctor asked patiently.

            "Um… you mean, _before_ you guys came in?" I questioned, totally lost.

            "Can you tell if he's just faking this?" Obadiah asked in an uncharitable tone.

            The doctor gave him a look. "Why would someone fake short-term memory loss?"

            "Clearly you don't know him very well," Obadiah replied darkly.

            "Know who?" I asked curiously. "Hi, I'm Tony, by the way," I added to the little Indian doctor standing by my hospital bed. "What am I doing here?"

            "Short-term memory loss is a rare but possible side effect of the medication we're using to flush the narcotics from his system," the doctor told Obadiah thoughtfully.

            "Are you talking about me?" I demanded. Why wasn't anyone paying attention to me? "I don't do drugs. Where's Pepper? She can tell you."

            "Ask him now before he blanks out again," Obadiah suggested.

            "Ask me _what_?"

            "What's the last thing you remember, Mr. Stark?" asked the doctor patiently. He had a nice, lilting sort of accent.

            Which nonetheless didn't prevent me from insisting they answer _my_ questions. "WHERE IS PEPPER?!"

            "She's on vacation, Tony. J---s," snapped Obadiah.

            "Oh, that's right," I agreed, disappointed. Something told me that me waking up in a hospital bed feeling like s—t with, apparently, short-term memory loss was a situation Pepper would have dealt with much better than Obadiah appeared to. "I gave her a hummingbird necklace the day before she left, for her birthday."

            "That was three days ago," Obadiah told the doctor, who nodded as if this were highly significant.

            "Whatever," I snorted. "It was, like, yesterday or something. Isn't that a great gift, though? Because Pepper consumes so much sugar, you see, and she kind of flutters around."

            "Pepper doesn't flutter," Obadiah sighed wearily.

            "Of course she doesn't," I replied in confusion. "Who said she does? And where is she? Why am I in the hospital?"

            "On second thought, I don't think he's faking," Obadiah declared randomly. "He would've cracked up long before now."

            "Let's try a different medication to flush his system," the doctor suggested. Obviously they intended to ignore me, so I sulked quietly.

            "How long until this broken record gets fixed?" Obadiah asked, clearly referring to me. Sometimes I really didn't appreciate his dark sense of humor.

            "Oh, once we get the medication changed, it should only be a couple of hours," the doctor assured him.

            "—with you until they know it's working," Obadiah was saying as I began to look around.

            "Why am I in the hospital?" I asked him suspiciously. "I feel like s—t! Where's Pepper? What day is it?"

            "I'm going to explain it to you," Obadiah promised, in a tone usually reserved for small, stupid children. So, normal, then. He laid a piece of paper on the tabletop that was swung over my lap. "And I want you to write it down."

            "Why?" I asked in confusion, taking the pen he handed me.

            "It's important," he assured me, with unusual patience.

            Not that I really trusted Obadiah that much (which turned out to be _too_ much, small as it was). But he seemed to know what was going on and I had no clue. "Okay."

            "Write, 'Today is Christmas Eve,' " he instructed arcanely.

            " _Is_ it Christmas Eve?" I asked warily.

            "Yes. Write it."

            I wrote. "Am I going to get to go to Rhodey's this evening?" I really enjoyed that tradition.

            "Doubtful," Obadiah replied. "Now write, 'You are having memory problems.' "

            "Wow, that explains a lot," I decided, writing. "I feel just like that guy in _Memento_!"

            Obadiah urged me to stay focused. "Now write, 'Pepper is on vacation.' "

            I rolled my eyes but wrote. "Of _course_ Pepper's on vacation if it's Christmas Eve. What am I, an idiot? Hey, did you see the awesome birthday present I got her? It was a hummingbird necklace. 'Cause she drinks a lot of sugar and hovers all the time."

            Obadiah set a digital travel clock on the table. "Now write, 'Write down the time.' And write down the time."

            "What for?"

            "So you can see how much time has passed since your little hard drive was last reset."

            I blinked up at Obadiah, who sat beside the hospital bed I was in. "Are we talking about computers? Why am I in the hospital?" He indicated the tabletop in front me, which contained a piece of paper with writing on it. I picked it up and read through it—it was a little bizarre, something about Christmas and memory problems and Pepper being gone, but it was in my own handwriting so I chose to believe it. "Cool," I declared, writing down the new time. "I'm just like that guy in _Memento_."

            Obadiah rolled his eyes. "Here, I bought you a comic book. That seemed to be about the limit of your intellectual prowess today."

            "Awesome! _Batman_!" I declared, undeterred by his offensive tone. I was used to it, after all.

            I opened the comic while Obadiah went to work on his laptop, which was set up at the foot of the bed. "The artwork in this is incredible," I remarked appreciatively. "You could practically melt into these shadows."

            "If only," Obadiah muttered.

            "What are you doing here, anyway, Obie?" I asked him. "It's Christmas Eve. Don't you usually have a few marshmallows to roast in the red light district?"

            "Shockingly, I chose to stay here with you, pipsqueak," he replied, in a manner that was almost affectionate (for him, anyway). "Don't make me regret it."

            I didn't know what to say to that, except I was pretty sure he _was_ going to regret it, so I went back to my comic book. " _Grandma got run over by a reindeer_ ," I murmured under my breath. It _was_ Christmas, after all. " _Comin' home from our house Christmas Eve. Now you can say there's no_ —"

            "Tony, what are you _doing_?" Obadiah sighed.

            "It's just a Christmas song, Scrooge McStane," I said pointedly. "You _might_ cut the guy with memory problems some slack." He growled a little but went back to work. " _Now you can say there's no such thing as Santa…_ " I turned a page in the comic book. "… _but as for me and Grandpa, we_ —holy s—t!"

            "What?!" Obadiah demanded.

            "Batgirl just got blown up by a car bomb!"

            "How seasonal."

            I blinked suddenly, looking around the hospital room I found myself in. Obadiah was sitting at the foot of the bed, working on his laptop. "Hey, Obie, what—" There was a note on the table in front of me, in my handwriting. "Awesome! I'm just like the guy in _Memento_!" I decided after reading it. I wrote down the new time.

            I also appeared to be holding a comic book. " _Batman_ , cool! Wow, this artwork is amazing. The flames look so real." Obadiah seemed determined to ignore me. "Guess I'm missing Rhodey's Christmas party tonight, huh?" I sighed with disappointment. "Don't worry, I don't mind talking to myself," I added after a moment.

            "You're not the most scintillating conversationalist at the moment," Obadiah replied, not looking up from his computer.

            I supposed that was true. "Shouldn't you be out stringing a little tinsel tonight?" He didn't reply, so I went back to the comic book. " _Grandma got run over by a reindeer_ ," I began singing under my breath as I read. " _Comin' home from our house Christmas Eve. Now you can say there's no such thing as Santa. But as for me and Grandpa, we_ —Oh my G-d! Batgirl just got killed by a car bomb!"

            I was in a hospital bed, feeling like s—t, while Obadiah pecked coldly away at his laptop. Fortunately, I had thought to leave myself a note explaining things. "Dude, I'm _just_ like that guy in _Memento_! Maybe I should lie to myself with these notes."

            "I don't think that would be a good idea, Tony."

            I snorted. "Always preventing my fun. Say, aren't you usually frosting a few cookies right about now?"

            "You know what's really amazing, Tony," he replied flatly, "is that you manage to come up with a _new_ dirty, Christmas-themed metaphor each time."

            "I have no idea what you're talking about," I admitted, "but if it involves me being awesome, I agree. Oh, hey, _Batman_! Wow, the artists are really great here—the action looks so fluid." I began to sing to myself as I read. " _Grandma got run over by a reindeer, comin' home from our house Christmas Eve. Now you can say there's no such thing as Santa. But as for me and Grandpa, we_ —D—n! I don't believe it! Batgirl's car just exploded!"

            I was in a hospital bed. Obadiah was sitting in a chair at the foot with his laptop, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Obie, what's—Oh." I read the note I had left myself. "Cool! It's just like in _Memento_ when the guy has short-term memory loss and has to tattoo messages on himself!" Obadiah just rolled his eyes. "You know, I bet _Pepper_ would talk to me even though I had memory problems," I prodded him petulantly. "Oh, did you see what I got her as a birthday present? It's a necklace with a hummingbird on it, because she—"

            "Oh, G-d, I'm in Hell," Obadiah groaned suddenly, burying his face in his hands. "My own personal h—l—stuck in a room with you, on continuous loop!"

            "You aren't stuck here!" I shot back peevishly. "It's Christmas Eve! Go saddle up Comet and Vixen or something, like usual."

            "No, no, I'm staying," he sighed.

            "Well how noble of you." There was more than a trace of sarcasm in my tone.

            "Tony, you nearly had a panic attack when you 'woke up' to an empty room while I was in the bathroom," he pointed out.

            "I don't remember that," I said with a frown.

            "Well I do," he told me. "Just read your comic book, okay? _Quietly_ , please."

            He didn't have to stay with me, really. I could 'wake up' alone in that hospital room a hundred times and never know it, though each time my distress would feel painfully real. So I tried to read quietly, like he asked, not even remarking on the _awesome_ artwork. I didn't think a little murmured Christmas music would be _too_ upsetting, though. "… _Now you can say there's no such thing as Santa. But as for me and Grandpa_ —"

            "Batgirl gets blown up by a car bomb," Obadiah spoiled before I could turn the page.

            "Thanks, man, _real_ mature," I chided. "Toying with a man with memory problems."

            I was in a hospital bed, which was never a good sign. On the other hand, Rhodey was sitting at my side, smiling a little, so I figured things couldn't be _too_ bad. "Rhodey! What the h‑‑l?" I asked, wincing at the soreness in, well, my whole body. He held up a note written in my handwriting, waiting calmly for me to read it. "Awesome! I'm like the guy in _Memento_! So did you just get here or—Oh." I saw where he'd put his initials next to a time on my list, which according to the digital clock nearby was about twenty minutes ago. "We've been through this before, huh?" I guessed.

            "A few times," Rhodey agreed patiently. "I know you don't remember Obadiah was here before, but he'll be back soon. He just went out to grab some dinner."

            "Hmm, it _is_ Christmas Eve," I remarked. "He's probably out jingling someone's bells, if you know what I mean. What?" I asked, as Rhodey started chuckling.

            "Just that Obadiah was right when he said your creative talents were amazing," he answered cryptically. "Listen, man, I'll write you a note about this before I leave, but I talked it over with Rae and the kids, and we've decided to postpone our Christmas Eve celebration until you're well enough to attend. How does that sound?"

            I figured he had probably told me this before and knew _exactly_ how I thought it sounded, but I couldn't keep the smile off my face anyway. Christmas Eve at the Rhodes house was one of my favorite activities, and the first thing I realized, sadly, when I read the date was that I would probably be missing that little event this year. Being that I was in a hospital and feeling like s—t.

            "When do you guys get back from Florida?" I asked him.

            He nodded, like we were playing a scene and I had correctly guessed the next line. "We get back on the 30th, late. So maybe we could get together on New Year's Day?" I started to reply but he cut me off with a serious expression. "And _don't_ tell me you might be too hungover on New Year's Day," he ordered sternly. "You had better not touch a _drop_ of alcohol for the next _month_ , after what you did."

            I frowned at him. "Pretty ridiculous warning there, Rhodey," I pointed out. "Considering I won't remember it in about five minutes. _And_ I don't remember what I did to deserve it."

            "I know," he confessed. "I'm going to write that down before I go, too."

            "Hey," I said suddenly as I realized something of great importance, "if we wait until New Year's Day, Pepper can come, too! Er, if that would be okay…"

            Rhodey was smiling again. "Of course Pepper can come," he assured me. "We would love to see her."

            "Cool." I fell silent for a moment.

            "Tony?" Rhodey prompted, with some concern. "Are you still on this round, or are we starting over again?"

            "No, I'm still here," I replied. "It's just…" I gestured towards the rather lengthy list of times on the piece of paper. "Obviously I've been through a lot of rounds here. Anything I feel like saying to you, I've probably already said three times."

            Rhodey brushed that concern aside. "Don't worry about that, man," he insisted. "You're sick. It's okay." I wasn't so sure. I hated to be boring. "Honestly, Tony, you're not that much different from usual," he teased. "You tend to talk a lot about Pepper. And cheeseburgers."

            "I could really go for a cheeseburger right about now, since you mentioned it," I hinted.

            "Sorry, pal," he said, shaking his head. "This is your dinner right here." He touched the metal stand that was holding bags of a clear liquid, which fed into the IV in my hand. "Nutrient Solution #3."

            "Well, personally I prefer #5, but we only get that on special occasions," I quipped. Then I paused. "Have I said that before?"

            "Yeah," Rhodey grinned, "but last time you said '#37.' "

            "I was _so_ about to say thirty-seven this time!" I laughed. "I guess that's my number of choice. At this point do I usually make a sexual innuendo involving Pepper? Because that's what I feel like doing." Rhodey indicated yes. "D—n! Being predictable s—ks."

            "Well, if it's any consolation"—and he probably knew that it would be—"your average memory retention time is increasing."

            "Sorry, what did you say?" I asked Rhodey, who was sitting beside the hospital bed I was in. "Where am I? And why do I feel like s—t?" For some reason these vital questions made him sigh.

            I was in a hospital bed. Apparently I was having memory problems. I didn't think that really explained why I felt like s—t, but it probably explained why it wasn't worth explaining why to me each time. I looked over the list of times I had written down whenever I started life over—at least my average memory retention time seemed to be increasing. "Wow, at one point I really _did_ have the attention span of a hamster," I remarked to Obadiah, who was working on his laptop at the foot of the bed. He turned to look at me. "Sorry, have I said that before?" I guessed.

            "No, actually that one's new," he replied, with vague interest. "Usually you mention _Memento_ right away."

            "Yeah, that was the first thing that occurred to me," I agreed. "But then I thought of this _Star Trek_ episode where they were caught in a time loop, and the only way to break free was to do something different than they'd done before. Only they didn't really _know_ what they'd done before, they just had to guess based on what they _wanted_ to do—"

            "G-d, I hope I don't have to hear _this_ six more times," Obadiah cut in.

            I sighed. I didn't really have any sense of the amount of time that had passed, but the numbers on the paper indicated it had been a while. It didn't take a genius to realize that everything I felt like saying had already been said a dozen times. I hated to be predictable.

            "You know, you don't have to stay here, Obie," I told him seriously. "It's Christmas Eve. You usually have some sugar plums dancing around your head about now, don't you?" He chuckled, seemingly in spite of himself. "No, really, you should go. I wouldn't know the difference. They can have a nurse sit with me."

            "Well," Obadiah began, "it's one thing to hear you sing 'Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer' and talk about Pepper's hummingbird necklace over and over again. But the nurse would have to put up with you hitting on her every few minutes, and some things you just can't _pay_ people enough to endure."

            "Have we had this conversation before?" I asked suspiciously.

            "It's more or less new," he assured me. "Anyway, I haven't been here the _whole_ time. Your friend Major Rhodes stopped by for an hour and gave me a break."

            "Rhodey was here?" I didn't know whether to be happy he'd visited or sad I couldn't remember it. "Oh yeah, there are his initials." With a note beside them saying—" 'Turn over'? What does _that_ mean? Should I—Oh." I turned the piece of paper over and found the note Rhodey had written. "He says they're going to save the party for me until they get back from Florida," I reported excitedly. "And that Pepper can come!"

            "You're leaving out the part where he chides you for combining alcohol and pain medication, thus causing this mess," Obadiah pointed out dryly. "Again."

            "Yeah, well, that didn't really seem like as much fun." I looked around for something to entertain myself with as boredom began to descend. "So, what do I usually do around here?" I asked Obadiah. "Twiddle my thumbs?"

            "You have a comic book," he replied.

            I glanced around my immediate area. "I don't see one."

            "Hmm, maybe it fell on the floor last time." Obadiah walked around the bed, bending to stare under it. "Here it is." He handed me the comic book.

            "Oh, cool, _Batman_!"

            He rolled his eyes and went back to his laptop. "Just be careful before you turn to page ten."

            "Page ten?" I repeated in confusion. "What's on page ten?"

            "You'll see."

            I was in a hospital bed. I really felt like s—t. There was a note with a list of times on it in front of me, and a smart guy—such as myself—can usually figure out what's what from just a few obscure clues. Like Sherlock Holmes, you know. Obadiah was working away on his laptop at the foot of the bed—which seemed to be nice of him, unless he'd just arrived after showing a few babes around Toyland. It _was_ Christmas Eve, after all.

            "Hey, Obie," I began, with great uncertainty in my voice.

            "Yes, Tony," he replied, with the kind of disinterested patience born from long hours of answering the same questions over and over.

            "I don't understand this note."

            "And what exactly don't you understand?" he responded flatly. "You wrote it."

            "I know. I mean, I get that it's Christmas Eve and I have memory problems," I assured him. "But this last part is really cryptic. I mean, 'Pepper is on vacation.' What does _that_ mean?"

            "It _means_ ," Obadiah answered through gritted teeth, "that Pepper is on vacation. So don't ask me where she is."

            "Who's Pepper?"

            Boy, _that_ sure got his attention. He whipped around to face me, his eyes wide. I couldn't retain my befuddled expression and just started cracking up.

            "You little s—t," Obadiah derided, moving to loom above me with his hands on his hips. "I guess this means you're feeling better."

            I couldn't quite agree with _that_ hopeful assessment. "If I'm feeling better _now_ , I must've been feeling _really_ bad before." I tried to scoot a little further down in the bed, my eyelids fluttering heavily. "Sorry, Ob, I think I'm just gonna take a…"

            Dimly, as if from a great distance, I thought I heard Obadiah saying my name. Hey, if he was my light at the end of the tunnel I sure as h—l wasn't going in _that_ direction. Then there was a sort of vague alarm sound, and maybe other voices, and then—nothing but peaceful darkness.

            The next time I started to open my eyes, I saw a shiny, blue-green blur dangling in front of me. Hazily I reached towards it but my hand was caught in a cool, comforting grip.

            "Nice birdies," I croaked.

            "There's only one bird on my necklace, sir," Pepper corrected me quietly.

            "Wasn't talking about your necklace," I replied cheekily—as cheekily as possible, anyway.

            Pepper straightened up a bit on the edge of the hospital bed so I couldn't see down the front of her top anymore. Sad, really. But more of the world was coming into focus, slowly, and seeing _all_ of Pepper in her place beside me was far better than seeing none of her while she was on vacation.

            "Did you"—she pressed a straw against my lips and I sucked in water eagerly; my mouth felt parched—"come back early for me, Pepper?"

            "No, sir," she countered. "I came back right on time."

            I frowned at her. "But you just left a couple days ago. Er, didn't you?"

            She shook her head and gave me another sip of water. "It's December 28th. You've been in a coma for three days."

            Wow. Was not expecting that. "A _coma_? Oh my G-d. Do I have any brain damage or anything?" I wiggled my toes experimentally, having heard somewhere that was an important indicator of brain, or maybe it was spinal, damage.

            "No more than you started with," Pepper replied tartly, and I got the impression she was ticked off at me.

            "Hey, coma guy here," I protested indignantly. "Why are you getting all snippy with me? I require sympathy and coddling. Any chance there might be a cheeseburger in my immediate future?" I added hopefully.

            "Not unless you want to watch _me_ eat one," she answered, cruelly. She stuck the straw in my mouth again before I could speak. "You've been very irresponsible."

            Well, that certainly sounded like me. "In what way, specifically?"

            "What's the last thing you remember?"

            Hmm. That was a tough one. "Um… I gave you the hummingbird necklace for your birthday, before you left." She indicated I should continue attempting to think. "Oh, I remember. I went skiing. Boy, that was _dumb_ , huh? I should've listened to my mom and stayed off the slopes." Pepper waited patiently for the thoughts to trickle down through my brain, one cool hand clasping mine. "I hurt my shoulder. Well, okay, I was reckless, but no more so than usual. Certainly not worthy of your extremely judgmental 'very irresponsible.' "

            She gave me another drink. I was _really_ thirsty, having been unconscious for three days. "And what happened _after_ you hurt your shoulder?"

            "Oh, I get it," I realized. "You're talking about the pain medication. Well first of all, Miss Priss, it was a totally legal prescription. Oh, and I wouldn't have taken _any_ if _you_ had been home." She raised an eyebrow, clearly not guilt-stricken. "And, if the instructions say, 'Take one pill every six hours,' I think it's perfectly reasonable to assume that's equivalent to taking all four for the day at once."

            "Reasonable, perhaps, for someone who thinks he knows more than the doctor," she shot back. "And apparently, three hours after taking those four pills, you took _another_ four."

            "Really?" I frowned. "Hmm, I'm not sure I remember that. Or maybe I remember the second set, and not the first."

            "And _why_ ," Pepper prodded icily, "do you think you didn't remember taking the first set?"

            "Um… possibly the bottle of Scotch I opened in the middle might've had something to do with it," I admitted, a _bit_ sheepishly.

            "That was really very stupid of you, sir." Well, you never had to worry about Pepper mincing words, that was for sure.

            "Now _look_ , Pepper," I began defensively, and that was probably the wrong word to use because she glanced up and nailed me with her shamer's eyes. "Ah, s—t." Looking away from her didn't help—she had already hit the button and my thoughts were cascading off the cliff, landing in a dark, murky pit at the bottom. "G-d, I OD on booze and painkillers and put myself in a coma for three days?" And I didn't even get the pleasure of being a rock star beforehand. "There must be fifty million journalists outside eating this up."

            "I'm going to get you cleaned up a little, I think," Pepper decided, which I thought sounded rather sinister. She dug in her bag and came up with a toothbrush and toothpaste.

            "Hang on," I insisted as she poked the toothbrush at me. "If I'm like a louse on an outcast dung beetle who brings darkness to the world by abusing drugs, shouldn't I at least have to suffer through bad breath?"

            "It's the rest of us who will suffer that one, sir," she replied. "Now brush your teeth." I did as commanded. "It was very upsetting, coming home to an empty house and those messages from Mr. Stane," she went on quietly. I sighed, unable to really reply around the toothbrush. What would I have said, anyway? 'Sorry' seemed somewhat inadequate. "And Major Rhodes sat up with you all last night. He was very worried."

            I looked at her in surprise. "Rhodey was here? He's supposed to be in Florida." At least that was what I meant to say. It didn't really sound like that when it came out around the toothbrush.

            "He came back because people thought you might die," Pepper pointed out matter-of-factly. "You may spit in here." She handed me an empty cup, which I alternated with the water one until I was fully rinsed.

            "S—t," I finally said, when my mouth was free. "Rae's gonna kill me." This prospect was real enough to be alarming. She probably couldn't prevail on Rhodey to stop being friends with me… but what if she didn't let me see the kids anymore? Not that I deserved to, of course. But then again, I was used to enjoying a lot of things I didn't deserve.

            "I'm going to shave you," was Pepper's empathetic reply. "What sort of facial hair shall I leave?"

            "I don't care," I told her despondently. "Don't even bother."

            She pulled out an electric razor and held my head still while she worked. "To be precise, the drug overdose didn't directly cause the coma," she told me. "The drug overdose led to cardiac arrest, which—"

            "I had a—ow!"

            "Sorry, sir, you shouldn't move suddenly like that when there's a razor near your face."

            My ear had been nicked a little bit, but I was more concerned with what Pepper had just said. "I had a _heart attack_?!"

            "That brought you to the hospital," Pepper went on, trimming the other side of my face. "You were awake most of Christmas Eve—do you remember any of that?"

            "No," I confessed. As far as I was concerned I had never seen this hospital room before in my life.

            "Mr. Stane was here with you most of the time, and Major Rhodes stopped by as well," Pepper went on. "Here's a wet cloth, wash your face."

            "And I was—talking to them?" I questioned, mystified, as I washed my face. "Lucidly?"

            "I'm not sure they would call it _lucid_ ," she remarked cryptically. "Apparently, the first medicine the doctors gave you resulted in constant short term memory loss."

            "Wow, just like _Memento_ ," I decided. "Um, since that wasn't really my fault, can I say it was cool?"

            "I don't think you should classify any part of this experience as 'cool,' " Pepper judged. "Put some deodorant on."

            "When do you think I'm going to get out of here?" I asked her with distaste. "I really want to take a shower. And get some of these tubes removed."

            "We'll ask the doctor," she promised. "The second medicine they gave you, to replace the first, is what actually put you in the coma."

            "Well—then that's not my fault, either," I decided, beginning to feel happier.

            "The entire thing is your fault," Pepper maintained. "However, PR has been saying it was all caused by bad drug interactions. But we know it was really you," she added.

            "Thanks, that's very supportive of you," I told her sarcastically. "So how come I'm not in a coma anymore? Are they using some _third_ drug on me now? Are they certain _it_ won't have any bad interactions?"

            "No more drugs," Pepper replied. "I suppose you woke up because the second one finally left your system."

            I stretched my arms suddenly, the muscles working pleasantly. "Are you hungry, Pepper? You look hungry. I'm _starving_. What kind of food can I get around here? Jello? Pudding? Mashed bananas? Whatever it is, I'll take it."

            "Everyone's been very worried about you," she reiterated, seeing me perk up a bit. Well, too bad. She should've let me keep thinking the coma was my own fault.

            "Well, I'm sure _you_ were," I allowed compassionately. "And Rhodey. Obadiah was probably torn between hoping I kicked the bucket and wishing I'd completed some more designs first. Say," I asked her with some urgency, "he didn't change anything about the company while I was out, did he? Sell off any divisions, fire anyone, embezzle any funds?"

            "I don't think so," Pepper assured me. "Everyone's been away for the holidays."

            "Call my lawyer," I decided. "I should've taken my power of attorney away from Obadiah years ago. It's just too much temptation for him."

            "People are coming," Pepper pointed out. I didn't hear anything myself, but a moment later the door to my room opened and a small crowd spilled in, led by Obadiah.

            "Didn't I _tell_ you he'd wake up for _her_?" he cracked, and I thought I detected a certain amount of bitterness in his tone. Or maybe I was just projecting.

            "D—n, you thought you guys were gonna get rid of me _that_ easily?" I teased, looking at the Board members who had followed him in. "I feel great. Everyone should have a three-day coma once a year."

            "Mr. Stark," Pepper chided, but I avoided her shamer's eyes this time. I had to put up a good front for the people I wanted under my thumb, after all.

 

            The next day, after innumerable tests, lectures, and discussions that I was not at all a good sport about, I was pronounced fit to leave the hospital. The doctors seemed slightly surprised that I was doing so well, considering what I'd been through, but it felt normal enough to me. I'd always been pretty healthy, despite not actually taking care of myself, so turning out okay after a heart attack and a coma was about par for the course for me. Not that I was complaining, but I probably wouldn't have gotten into so much trouble over the years if I'd actually faced, you know, consequences.

            Obadiah dropped by my hospital room as I was getting ready to leave, Pepper having gone to scope out the paparazzi situation. Mostly we'd been successful with the whole "drug interaction" story—officially, the cardiac arrest and coma were just wild rumors and I had been merely "resting." I didn't know how much of that the vultures bought, but when I left the hospital and paraded before them I intended to look d—n good.

            "Then maybe you should've gone with a suit instead of a cuddly, fuzzy sweater," Obadiah observed dryly.

            I rolled my eyes. "PR thought a suit would be overkill. Like maybe I'd just been getting cosmetic surgery or something." Obadiah raised an eyebrow. "I know, I know, they've got sick minds in PR," I agreed. What could surgery possibly improve on me? "But a sweater and jeans seemed more sympathetic, I guess. Besides, these jeans make my a-s look _great_."

            Obadiah leaned over to take a look, then shook his head critically. "Sorry. You've lost weight the last few days. They're a little baggy."

            "What?!" I twisted around, trying to somehow see my own a-s in the mirror. This was very distressing—I wanted to look delightfully huggable (among other things), not _actually_ sick.

            " _Anyway_ ," Obadiah said pointedly, to draw my attention away from the mirror, "I brought you something you might find interesting." I somehow doubted he had but allowed him to continue. "A little peek into the surprisingly undercrowded mind of Tony Stark."

            That got my attention. I always liked hearing about myself. Obadiah handed me a piece of paper containing a note in my own writing. " 'Christmas Eve… memory problems… Pepper vacation'… I don't remember writing this," I confessed, looking up at him.

            "Well, you never did," he pointed out. "I had you write it so I didn't have to explain _everything_ each time you reset."

            "That's very clever," I decided, genuinely impressed. "Ooh, you had me write down the times, too. This is really cool!" I spotted Rhodey's initials by one of the times. "Pepper said he visited me that day. 'Turn over'? What does _that_ —Oh." I turned the piece of paper over and read the note Rhodey had written me. "Hey, he says they're going to save the Christmas party for me," I announced happily. "And that Pepper can come!" I had seen Rhodey since my recovery, of course, but only briefly as the doctors were most selfish with my time.

            "And once again you leave out the part where he chastises you," Obadiah observed.

            "Yeah, well, that's not as much fun."

            "There's this, too," he went on, giving me a second piece of paper. This one had little scribbles in Obadiah's handwriting, many of which had tally marks next to them.

            "What _is_ this?" I asked, fascinated.

            "Your obsessions," he told me. "A little surprising, actually. The things you kept mentioning over and over and OVER again. I finally thought to keep track of them."

            "Cool!" I sat down on the edge of the bed to peruse the list. " _Memento_ , cheeseburgers, Pepper's hummingbird necklace, other Pepper, Rhodey's Christmas party… What's 'dirty'? Do I want to know?"

            Obadiah smirked wryly. "You seemed fixated on mentioning my normal Christmas Eve activities—"

            "You mean, curling a little ribbon? Making the snow angels? Stuffing the Christmas goose?" I guessed gleefully.

            "Exactly," he confirmed tolerantly. "You showed a remarkable ability to come up with a _new_ Christmas-themed metaphor each time."

            "Well, I'm awesome like that," I agreed. "What's 'Grandma'?"

            He rolled his eyes at the remembered exasperation. "You enjoyed singing 'Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,' " he reported with disgust. "Continually."

            I snickered. "It's a good song." And now it was stuck in my head.

            "Stop," Obadiah commanded when I found myself humming it. "Never. Again."

            "Sorry. 'Batgirl'?"

            "Have you read the comic book lately?"

            "Comic book?" I tried to remember what had happened to the _Batman_ issue I'd seen lying around. "I think Pepper took it away. Something about it being too upsetting for me." I frowned at the list as it ended rather quickly. "Is this it?"

            Obadiah smirked at me. "What can I say? You don't branch out too much in your conversation."

            "Nothing about weapons or design, even?" You'd think those would be prominent in a list of my so-called obsessions.

            He shrugged. "Well, you tried sketching a couple times, but you got frustrated because you kept forgetting what you wanted to draw next."

            Understandable. "Thanks, Obie," I told him, tucking the papers into my bag. "I'm gonna keep those. And, um, well, thanks for staying with me," I added sincerely. "I know it must have been like your own personal h—l, with me on a continuous loop and all. And since you would've liked to be out shaking snow globes and—"

            He held up a hand. "I get it, I get it."

            "Well, I'm just saying, apparently I wouldn't have known if you were there or not," I went on, "so thanks for sticking around."

            "How do you know I _did_ stick around?" he asked dryly. "I could be lying, you know."

            "I checked your story with the nurses." Like I would've trusted _his_ word.

            "Oh, okay."

            Pepper stuck her head into the room. "Are you ready, sir? The crowd is fairly small, and Mr. Hogan has the car ready."

            "After you," Obadiah said, gesturing for me to go first.

 

            Oddly enough, considering all that had happened, it was my d—n shoulder that gave me the most trouble. No doctor would prescribe me any more painkillers now, not that I wanted to take them anyway, and I was forbidden alcohol as well. Pepper could've started a full-service spa with all the massages, hot tub soaks, and herbal remedies she imposed upon me, none of which brought more than temporary relief. I was convinced her unsympathetic attitude was the reason I wasn't healing faster.

            But on the bright side—Pepper and I were going to Rhodey's on New Year's Day! Which was good, because I needed something to look forward to after a dismal New Year's Eve—it was possibly my first sober one since I was, I dunno, fifteen, and it made me realize how dull and anticlimactic the whole process was when you didn't have a party to go to. Maybe if we still lived in ancient times and legitimately feared a wolf might eat the sun or whatever, I could find some excitement in it. But this year? Yeah, I went to bed (to sleep) at 12:30am.

            But then, we went to Rhodey's in the afternoon. I wore jeans and a sweater, because that outfit turned out to be pretty comfortable, and Pepper wore a ballgown. Yeah, in Rudolph red (no glowing, though). Hey, that's what she wanted to wear, so I didn't argue.

            All the houses on the block still had their holiday decorations up, and the Christmas music was playing and there was a fire in Rhodey's fireplace (New Year's Day was a little chilly in San Francisco), so mostly it felt like it could be Christmas Eve. Except of course for the _awesome_ addition of Pepper to the mix.

            The kids met us excitedly at the door, burbling and squealing. Rae had gotten them somewhat dressed up, though Mikey had already managed to get his dress shirt untucked and his shoe untied.

            "Uncle Tony! Uncle Tony! We missed you! Did you get our card?"

            Rhodey had brought the construction-paper-and-crayon creation from Florida. It had left quite a lot of glitter all over everything it touched, including Pepper, who wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing. "Of course I did! It was great! Who put the glitter on?"

            "Me!" Ellie insisted triumphantly.

            " _I_ thought of the pipe cleaner thing!" Mikey added. Did I mention the card had been rigged so a pipe cleaner coil sprang out when you opened it? Just what you wanted to give to a guy who'd had a heart attack. I laughed my a-s off at it.

            "That was an _awesome_ piece of engineering, Mikey," I assured him. "I think if we get some real springs, we can make an even _bigger_ sproing! at the end. You wanna try that sometime?" Of course he did. I could see in his eyes he was dreaming of booby-trapping all of his sister's stuffed animals.

            Unfortunately I had to kneel on the ground to hug the kids—normally I was the kind of guy who grabbed little kids (ones I knew, not strangers) and swung 'em around until they screamed, or puked. That was what I always enjoyed as a kid. But my shoulder thing prevented me from even picking them up.

            It also meant I didn't have to carry anything. "You guys remember Pepper, don't you?" I asked the kids. "Why don't you take some of those bags from her? Put 'em under the tree." Pepper had come in loaded with gifts I'd bought, like a really pretty camel.

            "Tony! How are you feeling?" Rae greeted, hugging me gingerly. "You look—disturbingly normal," she added, surely disappointed that I didn't bear the marks of my ordeal as a reminder.

            "Thanks!" I replied cheerfully. "You should see the picture of myself I keep in the attic."

            Rhodey gave me a hug as well. "You are one lucky SOB," he told me with affectionate sternness.

            "That spells _sob_ ," Ellie announced proudly. Rae went to assist Pepper and the kids in putting the new presents under the tree.

            "Seriously, man, I can't believe you're even out of the hospital this soon," Rhodey went on quietly, urging me to sit down on the couch as though he feared I might collapse from three minutes of standing. "How do you feel?"

            "I'm okay," I assured him. "The only thing is, my shoulder's sore as h—heck"—Rhodey's house was a no-swear-zone, at least when the kids were around—"but Pepper gave me a massage earlier so it's fine right now."

            "Well you just take it easy, okay, Tony?" Rhodey advised with concern. "If you need to leave, or you wanna take a nap or something—"

            "No, I'm fine, really," I insisted, trying to look believable. "Thanks for coming by the hospital, though. Both times. Not that I remember the first time at all, but Obadiah told me you stopped by."

            "Well, I do have to admit life with you is never boring," Rhodey said, shaking his head.

            "Obviously you've never been to a _sober_ New Year's Eve with me," I shot back with a touch of bitterness.

            "Uncle Tony, come see the cookies we made!" the kids insisted brightly, trying to tug me off the couch.

            "Don't pull on your Uncle Tony," Pepper instructed them, swooping in protectively. "He's been sick."

            "That's my nurse," I told the kids with a grin, following them to the kitchen.

            "What were you sick with, Uncle Tony? Did you have chicken pox?"

            "No"—thank G-d!—"I wasn't really sick, I just hurt my shoulder." And wasn't _that_ the understatement of the year.

            Rae and the kids had apparently been spending all their time off school producing treats, judging by the results in the kitchen. I pictured a cookie-making gulag with the children forming an assembly line while Rae oversaw them wielding a wooden spoon. "Oh stop," she ordered me, while the kids laughed all too knowingly.

            Pepper was almost overwhelmed by the display of homemade holiday goodness. I could tell from the way her hand twitched in mine that she was fighting the urge to dive headfirst into the table of cookies, like a pig with a tub of slop. "You wanna cookie, Pepper?" I teased. "Let's pick out some cookies for Pepper."

            "This one looks like a person," she observed a few minutes later, when the first round had been consumed. She held up a gingerbread boy whose features had been carefully piped on in white icing.

            "G-d, _that's_ a little grim," I judged, taking the cookie from her. "You guys cut out his heart!"

            "We did _not_ cut out his heart," Rae countered. "That marks where his heart _is_."

            "Uh, yeah, clearly there is a heart-shaped _hole_ in the middle of his chest," I argued, looking at the giggling children through it. "Wow, you did it with _all_ of them," I added, noticing the artfully arranged platter of de-hearted gingerbread boys. "It's like—a pile of sacrificial victims waiting for the pyre. It's like in _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_ when the bad guy reaches into the guy's chest and pulls out his still-beating heart!" I reached menacingly for Mikey, who shrieked with glee and dodged me. Rae rolled her eyes in the background but didn't chide us.

            "What's this?" Pepper asked with interest, sniffing around a large bowl.

            I recognized the substance immediately. "Oh, that's gonna be like _crack_ for you, Pep," I laughed. How could she possibly resist chocolate and peanut butter-covered Chex pieces? She'd inhale the entire batch in seconds.

            "Crack is very bad for you," Ellie informed us seriously.

            D—n, I'd forgotten how early they started drug education these days. "That's a very good point, Ellie," I assured her, picking up the bowl before Pepper could reach in. "I think we ought to keep this away from her, don't you? Why don't you go put it in the fridge." Pepper's expression indicated I would regret teasing her about something so important.

            So we had some snacks, the kids showed me the latest holiday projects they'd made in school—"Wow, thank you, Ellie! Pepper, honey, won't this cross-stitched reindeer pendant look _great_ on our tree?" _Say yes, d----t._ "Oh yes, it's very… reindeery."—and the toys they'd gotten for Christmas so far (fortunately no repeats with what I'd brought, since I always got the most outrageously expensive stuff). Rhodey and Rae attempted, futilely, to engage Pepper in conversation about her vacation. I attempted, futilely, to engage Buster the dog in play so he wouldn't bother Pepper. But dogs could sense who in the room didn't like them, and Buster felt it was his duty to investigate this person.

            I crawled over to the grown-ups who were sitting on the couch, limping a little to spare my shoulder. "You shouldn't be attempting to locomote with four limbs," Pepper told me severely. "The human species has evolved to walk upright."

            "Well, not all of us," I laughed, resting my head on her lap for a moment. She rubbed the back of my neck and I felt my energy return. Funny the psychological effect Pepper's touch had. I turned to Rhodey and Rae. "So, Mom and Dad, can we open presents now? _Pleeeeeeeease_?" The kids took up my request eagerly, and loudly, until their parents had to give in.

            You wouldn't think four adults, two kids, and a dog would cause _that_ much chaos around a Christmas tree, but we managed it somehow. Probably it didn't help that one of the adults was as adept at causing trouble as any child, and had a ton of money to throw around besides. Let's just say there were a number of moments when the kids opened a gift and started squealing with delight, while Rhodey or, more likely, Rae looked vaguely frightened about what said gift might ignite (sometimes literally—Mikey had an aptitude for building things and I knew he would appreciate that model rocket kit). Ellie's gifts were usually only dangerous in the sense that someday they might smother her—piles of stuffed animals, mostly. But she'd also been on a big Barbie kick for several years now and her corner of the basement play room was basically a pink metropolis, welcoming dolls of diverse appearance from mermaids to butterflies. Kind of like San Francisco itself.

            "Psst, Ellie, come here," I summoned. "Don't you think Pepper looks pretty tonight?" I whispered to her leadingly. She nodded eagerly. Obviously Pepper was not the 'get on the floor and roll around with the kids' type—she tended to view children with some confusion, much the way she looked at the dog. But, if she got into a conversation with the kids, they usually discovered they had a similar understanding of the world, not to mention a shared love of sugary treats. Ellie also thought Pepper was beautiful, like a life-sized Barbie doll basically, and visits to our house by the Rhodes family in the past had usually found the two girls playing dress-up with Pepper's extensive wardrobe.

            "She looks just like Holiday Barbie," Ellie told me, indicating one of her new acquisitions who also happened to be wearing a red ballgown.

            "I think she's missing something, don't you?" I prompted the little girl. "Why don't you take this over to her?" I handed Ellie a flat, square package I had acquired without Pepper's knowledge. "Careful, it's kind of heavy."

            "Here you go, Aunt Pepper," Ellie announced, thrusting the package at Pepper. "This is for you."

            Pepper had been patiently freeing Mikey's new remote control truck from its packaging—the rest of us tended to get frustrated and start ripping things—but she took the gift politely. "Thank you, Ellie." Of course Pepper also did the thing where she opened her gifts methodically, starting at the folds, which _drove me insane_.

            "Oh my _G-d_ , Pepper!" I exclaimed. "Please finish before sunrise!"

            "You shouldn't be lying on the floor," she warned me, and I heaved a put-upon sigh and sat up, which I had to admit _did_ reduce the pressure on my shoulder.

            Finally Pepper removed the wrapping in one piece and laid it carefully on the floor beside her, where it was promptly taken up as a chew toy by Buster. There followed a brief interlude of wrestling the paper away from the dog. Finally Pepper was able to open the velvet-covered box in peace.

            "Ooh, shiny," she said appreciatively, lifting out a diamond necklace that cost me an obscene amount of money. "It's so beautiful!" If Rhodey or Rae looked a little shocked that their property value had temporarily doubled, well, I didn't really notice, because I was busy enjoying Pepper's enjoyment. I thought I could've gotten her cubic zirconia, or even good glass, and Pepper would've thought the jewelry was just as pretty, but where was the fun in that for _me_? I didn't have anyone else to shower expensive jewelry on, after all.

            The last big activity of the evening was always the movie, which the kids and I usually watched while Rhodey and Rae hung out in the kitchen. They didn't seem to have the infinite capacity for cheesy holiday movies that the kids and I did. This year I made Pepper join us on the couch, figuring she wouldn't have seen most of the standard holiday movies anyway.

            "So what are we watching, guys?" I prompted as they settled in with their snacks.

            There was some fierce debate—one might even say arguing—between the siblings, which I put a firm stop to. I _was_ technically the adult, after all. Finally a decision was reached: _Elf_. I had never seen it before, actually, but it turned out to be remarkably appropriate.

            Because Buddy—the human raised by Santa's elves, then sent off to New York City to find his biological father—was actually, in fact, Pepper.

            Okay, Pepper wasn't whimsical or warm-hearted or prone to hugging strangers. But she and Buddy both ate a lot of sugar, including as a topping on food items that didn't normally require it. When Buddy pulled a bottle of syrup out of his sleeve and poured it over a plate of spaghetti, I could believe it. "Oh. My. _G-d_! Pepper! _You've_ done that!"

            "No, I haven't," she contradicted quickly.

            "Okay, you use honey, not syrup," I conceded, though I felt this was a fairly minor point. "But you have _totally_ done that!"

            After that, I couldn't stop myself. Everything Buddy did—from mistakenly giving his father a gift of lingerie, to walking in on someone in the shower, to tackling a department-store Santa—I pictured Pepper doing instead, and I really thought I was going to hurt myself laughing. "Oh, well, now I _know_ Pepper isn't an elf," I countered during one scene. "Because Pepper can't ice skate!" Picture a giraffe trying to ice skate and there's Pepper. The look she shot me upon being reminded of her lack of skating prowess was about as poisonous as a bottle of rancid honey.

            I was still giggling to myself when we were back in the kitchen, the kids having been tucked away in bed for the night. "So did you go to a special school at the North Pole, Pepper?" I asked her unwisely. "Pepper and Buddy and Mindy and Bitsy and Muffin and all the other little elves?"

            "Stop teasing her about it, Tony," Rae advised. Meanwhile, Pepper picked up one of the remaining gingerbread boys and, looking me right in the eye, snapped its head off. I actually jerked backwards a little at that threat, then started laughing again.

            "Well _here's_ the puppy chow," Rae commented, mystified, as she pulled the bowl out of the fridge. "How on earth did it get in here?" I feigned complete ignorance. "Now try this, Pepper, I thought you would really like it." Oh, and she did. "No, really, eat as much as you want," Rae told her dangerously. "The more you two eat, the less will be sitting around the house for us." Pepper was happy to oblige.

            "Hey, do we have the new schedules for Tony?" Rhodey was asking, and I perked up. "I guess we can email them to you like usual…"

            "Show Pepper, she'll memorize it," I suggested instead, and Rhodey began searching the crowded refrigerator for pieces of paper to remove.

            "Schedules for what?" Pepper queried, licking chocolate-peanut butter off her fingers. I didn't know why she bothered to clean up, she was just going to get dirty again with another bowlful of the snack.

            "This is Ellie's ballet schedule," Rhodey explained, handing Pepper one piece of paper. It was promptly soiled with chocolate-peanut butter fingerprints. "And Mikey's piano recitals… and soccer games for them both—please try _not_ to get kicked out this season, Tony."

            "Have they got a new ref yet?" I asked sharply. "I make no promises otherwise." Seriously, the guy they'd had the last couple years was completely _blind_.

            Pepper glanced over each piece of paper, scanning them into her brain and sorting the information accordingly. Then she handed the pages to me—not that there was much point in me looking at them. Yeah, I could remember the information on them if asked—photographic memory, you know—but I wasn't so good about filing that information in a useful manner. I sure wasn't going to go home and enter each date into my calendar so it _would_ be useful—that was what I had an assistant for.

            "Your children must be very talented," Pepper remarked.

            "Well, _we_ think so," Rhodey grinned.

            "The piano is a musical instrument, isn't it?"

            I liked to think Pepper felt comfortable enough among us friends to risk looking dumb without worrying that we'd make her _feel_ dumb. "Duh," I replied to her.

            Rhodey glared at me. "Man, if you hadn't just been in the hospital, I'd smack you up side the head."

            "Yes, Pepper," Rae answered, "a piano is a musical instrument, like that right there." She pointed through the doorway to the photograph-covered upright in the living room.

            "You guys coddle her too much," I accused. "Pepper, we frickin' _own_ a piano!"

            She frowned. "I don't think we do."

            "Pepper!" I protested. "There's a grand piano in the sunroom!"

            She gave this some thought. "There's a very large, black _table_ in the sunroom. With a bench in front of it."

            "That's the piano!"

            "It doesn't look like _that_ one," Pepper pointed out.

            "You got me," I replied flatly. "It's just a large, black table with a bench in front of it."

            "Tony, I don't care if you _have_ been in the hospital, I may smack you anyway," Rae threatened.

            Pepper reached across the table and took my hand. "Don't worry, Mr. Stark, I won't let them hurt you. No matter how much you might deserve it," she told me gravely.

            "Thank you, Pepper, that's very comforting," I assured her as Rhodey chuckled. "Anyway, in _that_ piano the strings are vertical, and in _our_ piano, they're laid out horizontally. But they're both still pianos."

            "Oh," Pepper remarked with possible understanding. "Are there any other pieces of furniture in the house that are really musical instruments?" She now seemed uncertain about her perception of reality.

            "You know that really ugly chair in the corner of the living room? That's actually a zither." Her lips twitched. Then she smiled. But her lips twitched first. "Oh my G-d, you were totally going to laugh!" I accused in amazement, laughing myself. "Come on, don't hold back, Pepper! You can laugh!"

            "Oh, I'm sorry, sir," she told me seriously. "Perhaps if you had been just a _little_ bit funnier…" I made a noise to indicate she'd wounded me while Rhodey and Rae outright laughed. "Perhaps if you had said 'bongo' instead of 'zither'…"

            "Zithers are _way_ funnier than bongos, Pepper," I insisted, but she seemed to disagree.

            "You have never used our piano as a musical instrument that _I_ know of," she continued, which I suppose further justified her confusion over its purpose.

            "Yeah, why do you even _have_ a piano, man?" Rhodey needled. "You don't play."

            "Well, it's impressive-looking," I tried to explain, which was met with scoffs and tsks. "Anyway, I _did_ take lessons."

            "And when was _that_?"

            "Um, I think I was… thirteen or fourteen," I struggled to recall. I wasn't _that_ old. But events before a certain time were a little hazy for me. "I had lessons for, like, two years," I insisted. "Although I don't think I've even _touched_ a piano in maybe fifteen years. Well," I added with a grin, "except for that time a couple years ago when I was—" I looked at Rhodey's warning expression and cleared my throat. "—when I was showing it to someone, but not, er, actually playing it." Rae rolled her eyes, having guessed correctly that I was originally going to mention using the piano in a decidedly more salacious manner.

            "Show me how the piano is played," Pepper requested.

            "I don't know," I hedged. "I doubt I remember very much…" She blinked at me expectantly. "Well, okay, I guess, but don't say I didn't warn you." I stood and headed to the piano with Pepper in tow.

            "Um, Tony," Rae interrupted, "I think the children are asleep already—"

            "Are you guys asleep?" I shouted down the hallway to the bedrooms.

            "No!" answered two little voices.

            "See, it's okay, they're still awake," I assured Rae, who went back to the kitchen shaking her head.

            I pulled the piano bench out and sat down, then patted the seat beside me. Pepper sat carefully, avoiding touching any of this strange contraption. I flipped the lid up to reveal the keys and gave them a few experimental pokes. Then I settled in and started playing a little Rachmaninoff I remembered from the latter part of my piano-learning days.

            "Good _G-d_ , Tony," Rhodey remarked from the doorway when I was done.

            "Yeah, I know, it's a little rusty," I agreed.

            "Actually, at the risk of making your head swell up so big you can't get out the door," he countered dryly, "I was going to say that was pretty, er, darn good for not having played in fifteen years."

            "Really? _Darn_ good, huh?" I repeated thoughtfully. "That _is_ good, already." Well, you know me, I wasn't much for modesty, false or otherwise, but honestly I heard more of the mistakes than anything else. But maybe that was because at one time, I could play it perfectly—if I'd just sat down and produced that on my first try ever, I'd probably be pretty pleased with myself.

            "Can _I_ try?" Pepper asked, and I scooted over a little bit.

            "You want to actually know anything about the notes, or do you just want to mess around?" I asked her. "Or would you like to know something about the notes, and then when we get home—"

            "Tony!" chastised Rae in advance.

            "I wasn't going to say anything bad!" I insisted, all innocence.

            "I'm just going to do what you did," Pepper decided.

            "Okay. Go for it." This would be short.

            Pepper stared at the keyboard for a moment with intense concentration, as if willing it to behave, and then she put her hands on the keys and—did what I had done. Played the piece _exactly_ the way I had, including all the mistakes I'd made, so she was clearly using my attempt as a model. It was really d—n impressive.

            "Okay, you win," I told her when she'd finished. Considering she didn't even know what a piano _was_ a few minutes ago.

            "Was that _Pepper_?" Rae asked in astonishment, sticking her head out of the kitchen.

            "Yeah, apparently we've discovered her music subprocessor," I smirked. In hindsight I shouldn't have been surprised, really. Pepper's piano playing was kind of like her singing—technically competent, note-perfect (at least, identical to whatever she was basing it on), but vaguely… mechanical. Like she didn't really understand _why_ she was making these noises or what their purpose was. "Did you enjoy that, or…?" I prompted her.

            "It could have been louder," she decided. See what I mean?

            "I don't know, Pep," I told her, tootling around on the keyboard, "I think we may have found a wholesome new activity for us to engage in. We can sit around the grand piano at home, singing and playing folksongs perhaps, and invite the neighborhood children over for lemonade and baked goods. Oh, and we'll get some cats."

            "We have to bake?" Pepper asked in confusion.

            "No," I assured her. It was always sad when she didn't appreciate my sense of humor.

            "Do you know any Christmas songs, Tony?" asked Rae.

            I gave it some thought, then started playing. " _Grandma got run over by a reindeer, comin' home from our house Christmas Eve_ —" Pepper was staring at me open-mouthed. "What?" I asked, continuing to play. "You've heard that song before."

            "You can play a musical instrument and sing _at the same time_?" she asked, clearly amazed.

            "Oh yes," I replied. "Many people can, actually. Don't you remember ever watching this on TV or something?"

            "That's just TV," she said dismissively. Well, that's what I got for explaining to her that not everything on TV—like _Star Trek_ , _Saturday Night Live_ skits, and wrestling—was actually real.

            "Maybe I could teach you to sing and play the flute at the same time," I proposed seriously.

            She ignored this, although I was pretty sure she didn't know what a flute was. "Can you play and sing our song?" she wanted to know.

            "Hmm. Well, I probably could," I agreed. "But I'd want to practice it a little first. Why don't we do another Christmas song for right now?" She indicated that would be alright. Inspiration struck me. "Hey, why don't we sing the song that was in the movie? When she's singing in the shower? It'll be a duet. You sing the girl part," I added, in case she didn't get that. "Oh, and don't scream at the end like she does."

            "Oh," Pepper nodded. Good thing I thought to mention that.

            "Okay, are you ready?" I started playing. "You start."

            " _I really can't stay_ ," Pepper sang.

            " _Baby, it's cold outside_ ," I sang back.

            " _I've got to go 'way_."

            " _Baby, it's cold outside!_ "

            " _This evening has been_ …"

            " _Been hopin' that you'd drop in_."

            "… _so very nice_."

            " _I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice_."

            " _My mother will start to worry_ …"

            " _Beautiful, what's your hurry?_ "

            "… _and Father will be pacin' the floor_."

            " _Listen to the fireplace roar!_ "

            " _So really I'd better scurry_."

            " _Beautiful, please don't hurry!_ "

            " _Well maybe just a half a drink more_ …"

            " _Put some music on while I pour!_ "

            " _The neighbors might think_ …"

            " _Baby, it's_ bad _out there!_ "

            " _Say, what's in this drink?_ "

            " _No cabs to be had out there!_ "

            " _I wish I knew how to break the spell!_ "

            " _I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell_."

            " _I ought to say no, no, no, sir!_ "

            " _Mind if I move in closer?_ "

            " _At least I'm gonna say that I tried_."

            " _What's the sense of hurting my pride?_ "

            " _I really can't stay!_ "

            " _But, baby, it's cold outside!_ " we chorused at the end.

            I grinned, pleased with our duet. Pepper smiled, too. We had been left alone in the living room, apparently, our hosts having retreated to the kitchen. Pepper scooted closer to me on the bench and leaned over to—

            Well, if you thought I was going to say 'kiss me' or something like that, what with the sentimental holiday setting and the romantic song—forget it. That's how things worked in the romance novels Pepper read. But _not_ how they work in real life. At least not _our_ real life.

            Instead she leaned over to whisper in my ear, "How long has your shoulder been hurting?"

            "Since about halfway through the movie," I confessed quietly, not wanting Rhodey and Rae to know. They'd just worry. "Is it obvious?"

            "You're starting to look a little pale." I made a noise of frustration. "We should go."

            Yeah, we probably should, I was forced to admit. For some reason I really didn't like leaving these little friendly parties. But at least I would have Pepper with me. "Go snitch me a beer from the fridge," I told her.

            She frowned. "The doctor said no alcohol."

            "It will take the edge off," I argued, still in a hushed tone, "and I'm fine to drive with one beer."

            "We could call a cab," she countered. I didn't like that idea. "Major Rhodes could drive us home." I liked that idea even less. " _I_ could drive."

            "You can't drive," I countered with annoyance.

            "I _could_ ," she protested. "I've watched you. I just played the piano, didn't I?" Touché. "Come on," she tempted. "We'll go home and you can soak in the hot tub, and I'll make you some tea—"

            "I hate that tea," I grumbled.

            "—and then I'll give you a massage," she promised.

            I whined in the back of my throat, in a very mature way. I shouldn't have stayed so long, really; but I was having a good time. But now I was at the point where I really needed to make a decision and _do_ something, yet was too tired to actually _do_ it.

            "Why don't you take a little nap?" Pepper persisted. I really wasn't liking any of her ideas tonight. "Come on, just fifteen minutes. I'll wake you up, I promise." This idea, finally, was tempting. What good just fifteen minutes would do, I wasn't sure, but it sounded like it wouldn't worry Rhodey and Rae too much. After all, it _was_ kind of late.

            "Okay," I finally agreed, heading for the couch. "But _don't_ tell them why, okay?"

            "Okay." Pepper sat down on the end of the couch and I put my head in her lap, trying to get comfortable. "Do you want a blanket?"

            "No, I'm okay," I replied. "Remember, just fifteen minutes, right? I probably won't even…"

            Slowly my eyes fluttered back open, with my first sight the multi-colored lights of the Rhodeses' Christmas tree across from the couch. "Do you want to get up now?" Pepper asked quietly, her hand cool against my cheek.

            I blinked several times, becoming more alert. "Has it been fifteen minutes already?" I asked in confusion.

            She indicated yes. "Do you want to sleep more?"

            "No." I swung my legs over the side of the couch and sat up, with Pepper's help. My shoulder twinged a little, but it was much better than it had been before, and I felt like I gotten several hours' sleep at least. "Those power naps are something else," I decided appreciatively. "I should do that more often. We better go, though. I guess."

            "Do you think any fast food places will be open tonight?" Pepper asked as she stood. "I'm really hungry."

            "After all the cookies you ate?" I scoffed. "I really don't know where you put it all, Pepper."

            Rhodey helped Pepper take our presents out to the car while I watched Rae pile some leftover treats into containers. "Aren't you going to leave a _little_ for the kids?" I pleaded on their behalf. "I don't want them to think I'm the Cookie Monster or something."

            "They've got more than enough treats around here," Rae assured me. "Besides, Pepper might need to eat something on the way home."

            "Yeah, she said she was hungry," I confirmed. Some people, you would say they were tired. Pepper, we just said was hungry, since she didn't seem to _get_ tired. "Hey, where'd you get _that_?" I asked in surprise, as Rae produced a container full of puppy chow. "I thought Pepper ate it all."

            "I made _two_ batches." How very clever of her. "You know, Tony," Rae began, in a tone that made me wish I'd gone out to the car instead, "maybe when you feel better, you should give Pepper a little time off."

            "She just _had_ time off," I pointed out, trying not to sound as childish as I suddenly felt. "And, if she'd been home, I wouldn't have anything to feel better _from_."

            Rae ignored my comments, as she often did. "It's a lot of work, taking care of someone who's sick."

            "It's a lot of work taking care of me normally," I reasoned. "And anyway, I'm not sick anymore. I feel fine."

            "Tony, Jim and I worry about you," Rae said, with great sincerity. And maybe a little bit of busybody-ness. "You need to take things a little easier."

            "Honestly, Rae, I'm fine," I tried to assure her, ironing all the flippancy out of my tone. "You know me. I bounce back from these things."

            "Pepper shouldn't be your only emotional support," she added, and this conversation had gone on entirely too long, in my opinion.

            "I don't _need_ an emotional support," I countered, and this time I let the flippancy stay. I was about to tell her not to give us any of the heartless gingerbread boys she was about to start packing, but I feared she would only psychoanalyze the comment, given her current mood. "Pepper barely _has_ emotions anyway."

            Rae shook her head and snapped the cookie container shut with more force than was really necessary. "Some days I really don't understand why she stays with you," she muttered.

            "Yeah, well, I've _never_ understood it."

            I reached for the bag of cookie containers Rae had prepared, but she snatched it out of my grasp. "You shouldn't be carrying things," she reminded me, through slightly gritted teeth. I figured she really _wanted_ to make me carry it but knew she couldn't live with the guilt if I hurt myself doing so. Some people were just so easy.

            I trailed her into the living room. "More cookies?" Pepper asked, with a Pepper-ish level of delight. "How wonderful!" Rae passed her the bag.

            I gave both Rhodey and Rae parting hugs. Rae's felt like she wished she could squeeze some sense into me, while Rhodey's was too careful—he was always afraid of inadvertently pushing me in the wrong direction, even with a hug. Pepper stood back, close enough to indicate she was appreciative of the hugging but far enough away to avoid being caught up in it. And then we left.

            We drove home—with a run through McDonald's first, of course—and I soaked in the hot tub and drank Pepper's nasty herbal tea and got a nice massage for my shoulder. That night I dreamed that I was in a hospital room, all alone, with no knowledge of how I got there, and when I looked down at my chest I saw that my heart had been cut out, just like one of those gingerbread boys.

* * *


End file.
